Nothing Under the Sun
by Sixer
Summary: A short, pre-game piece about my favorite character from FF2. What shall we do with a sober pirate? Contains very mild violence and the tamest of tame references to sexual themes.


**Nothing Under the Sun**

The names of some of the characters are stolen from Terry Pratchett's _Small Gods_, which I have/claim no title to; nor do I claim any ownership of any character or place-name from Squaresoft's _Final Fantasy II_. I hope you enjoy it; please do let me know where my writing is inelegant or just plain bad. Thanks.

* * *

Captain Sasho, standing on the deck of the sloop _Atma_, was already having a bad night before the life-boat was sighted.

Joining the Imperial Navy was a process that took as long as it took for a note to be delivered explaining that Sasho, his ship and his men had been conscripted, and for the sails of the _Atma _to be dyed a deep red. In the two months since, he'd learned a lot about the finer points of military service. For one thing, it paid a lot less than plain old seafaring. For another, it was so much more complicated. Before then, when he was merely Benja Sasho, sighting a life-boat would mean hauling the occupants on board, half-heartedly asking if they had any valuables, then taking them to the nearest port.

Now it meant prisoners.

"One aboard, sir," called out the boson, Ichlos. "No markings on the boat. Castaway."

"Bring him up."

The men on watch threw a rope-ladder over the side and called down to the occupant of the boat. His voice drifted up to show that he was, in fact, a she.

"I have one condition," she called.

"What's that?"

"Don't shackle me."

"And if we don't agree... you'll carry on drifting and starving to death?"

"No. I'll still come up, but I'll slit your throats in your sleep. Deal?"

As one, the first watch looked at the captain for guidance. He shrugged, then called out. "Deal. But we've got crossbows, so don't try anything funny."

"Fantastic. Wonderful. I'm coming up."

The rope shook and swayed, and then the woman pulled herself up over the side of the Atma. Her hair was white. Sasho had seen rich ladies back home who'd treated their hair with lime to make it white, but this woman's hair was loose, not platted. It was partly covered by a 'kerchief that had once been all the colors of the rainbow, but was now the dull gray of any fabric that had been battered too long by the sea air. Her clothes were loose, only a long leather coat weighing them down, and an empty scabbard hung at her side.

"Been dressing as a man, have we, miss?" asked one of the men, a smile coming to his lips. It was not a nice smile. The woman blinked at him.

"There aren't many women in your life, right?" she asked.

"Stowed away to follow your boy?" The man leered. "Blush for me, pretty lady..."

The circle of swarthy, sea-bitten men laughed. The effect was spoiled somewhat by the sound of the woman laughing too. Gradually the men fell silent, leaving her laughter the only sound beside the waves. Then she fell silent too and smiled at the bewildered stares she'd earned, just as a new voice sounded.

"Captain Sasho, what is the meaning of this?"

Sasho winced. Inevitably, Coplei had come to see what was happening.

Coplei, an Imperial Factor of the Third Grade, was there to make sure Sasho and his men were doing their duty. As far as Sasho could make out, that duty consisted of doing everything they had done anyway before joining the navy, but for less money. He was also there to perform a ceremony the men had dubbed the Moving Around of the Paper. The paper in question, sheet after sheet of forms, reports and notes, filled up what had once been Sasho's cabin. Whenever they reached port, Coplei would push a great bundle of paper into the boson's arms and send him to the nearest embassy. He would return with a bundle at least as big, which Coplei would take and store in the cabin.

Sasho had a deep, ingrained respect for letters and for people who could arrange them correctly, but a nagging doubt deep in his soul told him that Coplei bore no resemblance to the scribes he had tipped his hat to back home. For one thing, those scribes had carried about them a kind of mania. They'd labored for hours, sometimes getting so carried away with inking in ornamentation that they left no space on the page for any writing. Coplei wrote in a messy, scrawled hand, and the things he wrote down were things Sasho thought were nobody's business.

"We've picked up a castaway, sir," he said, calmly.

"A castaway?" Coplei stepped forward, examining her. She returned his gaze – without bravado, without fear, just curiosity. "Woman, where are you from?"

"Oh, lots of places."

"Is that so? Rejoice – you are now a subject of the Empire of Palamecia. Captain, bring the prisoner into the cabin."

Sasho nodded miserably, then gestured at Ichlos. The woman winked at the man who'd leered at her.

"Wait for me, sailor boy," she cooed, making him shift uncomfortably as the boson took her arm and pulled her along after Coplei.

Sasho followed them into the small cabin. It had one single, dirty window, and was otherwise lit only by a flickering oil lamp hung over a table layered with paperwork. Coplei took the chair behind the desk. Sasho came to stand alongside him, and Ichlos pushed the woman to the center of the room, kicking the door shut behind him. There was barely room for the four of them; the walls were lined with shelves, and paper covered every available surface. The woman looked around with apparent interest, then moved as if to sit at the other chair.

"Remain standing." Coplei pulled a sheet of paper towards him and picked up a pen. "Now explain to me your purpose at sea." The woman blinked at him, surprised.

"You think that's worth writing down?Really?"

"Answer."

The woman glanced down at Ichlos' hands. "I like your tattoos. H-U-M-I on one fist, L-I-T-Y on the other. Shame they're in the wrong order, though. Can't really beat lityhumi into anyone, y'know."

Sasho coughed, then spoke up, earning a glare from Coplei. "The Factor can order-- that is-- you can be tortured, you know, miss. For piracy. No laws protect pirates..."

"I know!" replied the woman lightly. "It's the one thing all your countries can agree on."

"So, a pirate. I suppose you'll tell me you spit in the face of pain?" asked Coplei, his eyes narrowing. The woman shrugged.

"Uh, no. Not really. Pain hurts. Why do you get to do all the writing, mister?"

"Because I _can _write, woman," Coplei sneered. She nodded, unconcerned, then turned to Sasho.

"How much does he pay you? It's not enough, you know."

"Silence!" barked Coplei – and it occurred to Sasho that it really was a bark, an automatic response. "Do you have any other remarks to make before I have you put in chains?"

"Sure. Your parents only met once, and money changed hands. Five, maybe six gil at the very most."

Sasho flinched as Coplei shot to his feet, his chair rocking back and crashing to the floor. "How dare you!" the man screamed, "Insolence! For shame! I am a Factor of the Third Grade! Do you see this sash? Do you see it? It was presented to me personallyby the Lord High Tax Collector of the Empire! I am empowered to act as the will of the Emperor himself for this _entire _trade lane! _Who the hell do you think you are?!"_

Coplei moved to slam his fist down on the table, and that was when the woman moved too. She leaned away, arching her back almost daintily, then whipped one heel down the inside of Ichlos' leg, hard. The man yelled as his shin fractured beneath him, and the pistol-bow fell from his hand. As one of the woman's hands closed around the weapon, she flung the other out to catch one of the heavy shelves, sending it crashing down across the door, blocking it and pinning Ichlos where he was.

In the space of about a second, Coplei found himself looking a loaded crossbow in the eye. Sasho saw his expression change from one of self-righteous fury to one of absolute, blood-chilling terror. The woman smiled sweetly, then swung the bow up and fired.

There was a tick as the catch went, and then a dull clang as the bolt struck the oil lamp just above them. It burst, blue-gold flames rippling across the room – and as notes of acquisition and warrants and reports and _requests_ for reports all went up in flames, Sasho saw the woman's expression too. It was the expression of a woman who was afraid of absolutely nothing under the sun.

Smirking, eyes glittering in the light of burning orders, patting a flame on her shoulder out as though it were just an insect, she murmured a reply to Coplei's last question.

"I'm Leila Rhidelhart."

She neatly hooked her foot around the now-smoldering chair she had been refused and kicked it over Sasho's head, breaking the window behind him. Then she pounced, digging her heel into his shoulder as she passed, and sprung from him, following the billowing smoke out through the window and into the night.


End file.
